


A Glass Darkly

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [20]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Angst, Dragon Riders, Episode: s02e06 Through a Glass Darkly, Gen, Hurt Aramis | René d'Herblay, Hurt Savron, Hurt/Comfort, d'Artagnan's little dragon is so brave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24252550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: A trip to the great astronomer Marmion’s observatory turns into a twisted game where the stakes are life and death.
Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564573
Comments: 46
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

"Constance, I can't find my gloves," d'Artagnan said, rifling through the scarves and other gloves on the stand next to the coat hooks. At this rate he was going to be late for duty and would have to forsake keeping his hands warm in the winter wonderland outside.

"I have them!" Constance called from another room, then came hurrying out with said item in hand. "I patched the tear in the thumb."

"Thank you," d'Artagnan said, grateful but still anxious about being late. He took his gloves and gave her a peck on the cheek.

"I wish I could go with you. I imagine it must be quite marvelous, seeing the eclipse."

D'Artagnan flashed her a rueful smile. "I would love if you could come. Maybe no one would say anything…"

She shook her head. "It wouldn't be proper."

He nodded. "It's not like I'm going to get to see it either."

As a musketeer, his duty was to escort the King and Queen to the old fort at Chatillon that the astronomer Marmion had converted into an observatory and stand guard while they got treated to a dazzling display of the eclipse.

Constance walked him to the door and lingered on the threshold as he stepped out into the late December morning. Tiny snowflakes were drifting down from a pewter sky to alight on the thin layer of white already blanketing the yard. It was so pristine that d'Artagnan's young dragon with her pearly scales almost blended right in with the crystalline vista. Although the scattering of snow as she spun around in it was a dead giveaway. Ayelet chirped and leaped, snatching snowflakes out of the air with her mouth. D'Artagnan shook his head in amusement.

She noticed him striding toward the gate and squawked as she came scrambling after him.

"No," he said, holding out a hand to stop her.

She pulled up short and cocked her head, those wide, puppy-like eyes blinking up at him.

"I'm on duty," he explained.

Her face puckered in displeasure. At four months old, her language was developing quickly. She scuttled forward a few inches, letting out a plaintive trill.

"I'm sorry, but you can't come with me. Not yet, anyway," he said. Ayelet was still far too young to become a Musketeer dragon. While large enough for a small child to ride around the yard, her head only came up to d'Artagnan's stomach. It would be a while yet before _he'd_ be riding her.

She jabbed her nose at his thigh and scrunched her face up into a pout. D'Artagnan sighed. Part of him wanted to give in and let her come with him, let her get out of the dragon compound and interact with the other Musketeer dragons some more. But that would hardly be any more appropriate than bringing his wife along for the excursion.

"We'll do something together when I get back," he promised.

Ayelet dropped her head sulkily.

"Go on," d'Artagnan coaxed, watching as she turned around and shuffled away. Then he resumed a harried pace to the garrison, arriving just as the others were ready to leave.

"You're late," Athos commented blandly.

D'Artagnan grimaced. "Sorry," he mumbled, rushing to his horse that someone had thankfully saddled for him. He and Joubert would be riding with the royal carriage while Athos, Aramis, and Porthos flew overhead on their dragons.

They set off for the palace where they rendezvoused with the royal party already preparing to depart. There was the King and Queen, four courtiers, and the Cardinal with his own red guards to add to the retinue. The royal party piled into two covered carriages and then they all set off again to make their way toward Chatillon.

D'Artagnan craned his head back to survey the sky, which showed thin gaps that held the promise of clearing up within a few hours. It would have to if there was going to be any chance of viewing the eclipse. Still, it was a once in a lifetime opportunity and the King was eager to try.

The old fort came into view, its stone exterior gray and flecked with frost that glinted as the first hints of sunlight finally broke through the overcast canopy above. The train on the ground pulled to a stop and the royals began to exit the carriages. The musketeers and red guards dismounted, leaving their horses at the top of the rise. Three dragons flew overhead to land within the fort's walls.

"Welcome, sire," a man said to the King. "The great Marmion is busy with his final preparations. I am his servant, Robert."

Louis nodded and took the Queen's hand as they started making their way down a long slope to the fort below. The Cardinal strode behind them with two of his red guards while the remaining two brought up the rear with d'Artagnan and Joubert behind the courtiers. The path had been cleared of snow and men stood spaced apart holding banners in a ceremonial fashion.

"The old fort is the perfect setting for your viewing of the eclipse and the camera obscura," Robert said. "If you can see the rotating mirror on the roof, sire."

"Now, stop there," Louis interjected. "Let me guess. It reflects an image of the sun through a glass lens to a viewing surface inside the building."

"With perfect clarity, Your Majesty."

They passed under some trees and between a gap in the outer wall through to the inner grounds of the fort overgrown with a winter thicket dusted with white. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis were waiting, their dragons shuffling around in the snow to make themselves comfortable. Robert led the royal party up a large set of stone steps to the entrance under a covered awning. D'Artagnan lingered at the bottom of the steps to wait for the others.

"They say an eclipse is like God puttin' his hand over the sun," Porthos was commenting as he walked over.

"If it was, it would only be a show of his almighty power and not some portent of doom," Aramis replied.

Porthos didn't quite look convinced.

They climbed the steps after everyone else had, the line slowing as the royals doffed their winter coats upon entering.

"D'Artagnan," Aramis said in a piqued tone as they stood on the landing, his gaze turned outward. "Did you by chance invite another guest on this little excursion?"

"What?" D'Artagnan turned to follow the marksman's gaze, his mind immediately going to Constance and wondering if she had decided to try and catch a glimpse of the eclipse as well, though of course that was silly. And at first he didn't even see anyone else out there, until a flit of movement caught his eye between some shrubs. His brows shot upward. "I don't believe it."

Ayelet was scampering through the snow, staying low but periodically popping her head up to look at her surroundings.

"What is she doing here?" Athos asked in a low, disapproving voice.

"She must have followed me after I told her she couldn't come," d'Artagnan said.

Aramis's lips quirked. "So she's a feisty one."

"She shouldn't be here," Athos said reprovingly.

"I'll handle it," d'Artagnan assured him and jogged down the steps to intercept his errant dragon. "Ayelet!" he hissed.

She pulled up short, blinking rapidly as though she knew she'd been caught red-handed.

"What do you think you're doing?"

She chirped in response and reared up on her hind legs to flail her front ones happily at him. He was almost amused. Almost.

"You can't just run off like that. Constance is probably worried sick."

Ayelet slowly dropped down to all fours, expression falling.

D'Artagnan ran a gloved hand over his hair and glanced at the fort. He couldn't leave to take Ayelet home; his absence would be noted. "Alright, you want to see what it's like to be a Musketeer dragon? That means you stay out here with Savron and the others and _do not_ go far from their sight. Do you understand?"

She let out a plaintive mewl but bobbed her head.

"Good." He huffed and walked her over to the others. "We had a little unexpected tag-along," he announced as Savron looked their way.

The silverback narrowed his eyes on Ayelet and let out a low gurgle that was uncannily "Athos." Ayelet immediately ducked her head in response.

"Keep an eye on her until we're done here," d'Artagnan asked, then hurried back to the fort. He wished he could send word to Constance to tell her not to worry. She must be going out of her mind looking for Ayelet.

D'Artagnan sighed as he sprinted up the steps and into the building. Servants in the immediate foyer were hanging up the royal party's elegant winter coats. There was no sign of the group but d'Artagnan heard noise coming from the top of a long stairway so he headed that way. It brought him up to a partial level that looked down into the astronomer's observatory. Figures in robes and plague masks pulled on ropes and turned wheels, rotating a suspended model of the celestial bodies in orbit. D'Artagnan supposed they were going for a theatrical type of mood setting but he found the display somewhat disconcerting.

The royal guests meandered around the complex, admiring the tapestries and zodiac etchings in the ceiling. They'd been served wine glasses and given darkened lenses for the eclipse viewing. Everyone seemed delighted by it all, save for Richelieu, who looked as sour as ever. He had one red guard at his side. D'Artagnan could only assume the others had been dispatched to secure the rest of the house.

He spotted Aramis and Porthos and hastened over to join them. They were removing their hats and cloaks and draping them over the balcony railing. D'Artagnan added his to the pile. He noticed Athos and Joubert were already making their way down to the lower level.

"Welcome, Your Majesty," a voice rang out from below. "I am Marmion."

The King and Queen followed the two musketeers down, the courtiers and Richelieu following suit.

"I'll check the other side," Porthos said quietly.

Aramis nodded, and d'Artagnan decided to head downstairs with the others. Two chairs had been set out for the King and Queen, with wooden box seats for the others. The musketeers and red guard split up to make circuits around the room.

"All of Paris is talking of the eclipse," the astronomer began. "May I present the camera obscura?" He gestured to the contraption above him. "My wonderful device will allow Your Majesties to witness every detail." He paced around the round table in the middle of the room. "Our forefathers regarded a solar eclipse as a sign the world was ending."

"Luckily, we are all modern men now," Louis interjected with a smirk.

"And yet, we must still allow God a place in the universe," Marmion replied.

Louis glanced at Richelieu and canted his head in agreement.

"When the darkness comes, will we all feel His dread hand upon us?" Marmion went on.

D'Artagnan looked up in search of Porthos; seemed Marmion shared that interpretation of the eclipse.

"Curb your taste for showmanship, Marmion," the Cardinal interrupted testily. "And leave spiritual matters to those qualified to speak on it."

The astronomer inclined his head in concession before going on. "At this fateful moment, we must consider our own place in the universe. Do we control our fate, or are we merely the playthings of a power beyond understanding?"

"I must agree with the Cardinal," Louis put in impatiently. "Leave the sermons to him."

D'Artagnan passed by Athos, who didn't ask whether he'd handled the situation outside or not.

Marmion's jaw ticked, and he reached for the drape that lay across the center table. "Behold!" he said, whipping it off to reveal a glass surface. "The motion of the heavens!"

Light filled the room as the sun was refracted and reflected through the lenses to dance upon the surface. Gasps went up from the royal party as they all surged from their seats to approach the table for a closer look. D'Artagnan was curious to see himself but he knew his place and remained along the wall.

The light within the room gradually faded as the moon passed over the sun with a penumbral flare just before total eclipse. Everyone was captivated and an anticipatory hush fell over them all. Only to be broken by the sudden scritch of steel being drawn from scabbards and Marmion's men rushing forward. D'Artagnan blinked in stupefaction as the King was seized and yanked backward, multiple daggers aligning with his throat and chest. The women screamed and tried to run as other men with pistols converged on them.

D'Artagnan whipped out his blade and plunged into the fray, only for someone to grab his other arm and wrench it behind his back. He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on his sword as another thug advanced on him. He could hear the clang of steel as Athos and Joubert fought. In his peripheral vision he saw Aramis and Porthos up on the second level, not moving.

"Aramis, Porthos!" he yelled. They needed help down here.

Both musketeers moved simultaneously, giving d'Artagnan a view of them whirling around and knocking aside the two sets of pistols that had been aimed at their backs. The commotion briefly distracted d'Artagnan's own opponents and he tore out of the first one's grip and swung his sword with vengeful fervor.

He barely got a few strikes out before a pistol shot reverberated throughout the room and the red guard fell dead. Everyone froze.

"One more step and the King dies," Marmion declared.

D'Artagnan hesitated, which was enough time for two men to grab him and yank his sword from his grasp. He grunted in frustration as he was thrust to his knees and a rope quickly lashed about his wrists, binding his hands in front of him. He heard Aramis yell Porthos's name in warning and glanced up to see the large musketeer reluctantly surrendering. Both of them were divested of their weapons and bound as well. Across the room, Athos and Joubert were similarly restrained.

Marmion roved his gaze over them all: the King and Queen pressed into their chairs, a knife to Louis's throat and a machete poised against Anne's belly. The courtiers were crammed into one side of the box stands and Richelieu was flung down onto the opposite one. Light filled the room again, the eclipse over as quickly as the fight was.

"There is no escape," Marmion intoned.


	2. Chapter 2

Porthos growled as his hands were bound in front of him. He hated surrender; it went against every bone in his body. But the King's life had been threatened…not that these men didn't obviously have malignant intentions toward Louis considering they'd just taken him captive along with the Queen and First Minister of France. This was a right mess.

Across the way, Aramis's jaw was visibly tight as his weapons belt was removed and Marmion's goons took his own pistols to train on him. How could they have been taken so completely off guard?

"End this now and the King might yet grant you clemency," the Cardinal said sharply.

Porthos shifted his gaze over the balcony railing to the level below.

Marmion canted his head at Louis. "Will you, sire?" he asked with a taunting lilt. "If I say sorry, will all my sins be forgiven?"

Louis nodded shakily. "Yes. I will consider it."

Marmion scoffed. "We both know you would hang me from the nearest tree." He turned away and stalked around the center table. "The die is cast. There is no turning back."

"You won't get away with this," d'Artagnan declared. "You know the King's absence will be noted. You don't think someone will come looking?"

"We have hours yet to entertain ourselves," Marmion replied, unperturbed.

Equally relaxed, his men began to take off their plague masks.

"The time has come to make choices," Marmion went on, turning to walk back toward the King.

Louis shifted uncomfortably under the man's glacial gaze. "What kind of choices?"

"Simple ones with simple outcomes." Marmion held up a coin with Louis's face imprinted on it. "A fair likeness." He flipped it into the air and caught it, bringing it down on the top of his other hand. "Call."

Louis's brow furrowed in confusion. "To what purpose?"

"That is the fun of the game. You don't know, but you must call."

"Not unless you tell me why."

Porthos exchanged a glance with Aramis; what the hell was this madman up to? He looked down again and tried to catch Athos's eye, trying to ask what they should do. But Athos's gaze was fixed on Marmion and the King.

"Call correctly and you live," Marmion said. "But call wrong and you die."

Porthos's brows rose incredulously.

"You don't mean it," Louis said.

"Shall we find out? Call."

Louis was shaking in his seat and he closed his eyes and looked away.

"This is preposterous," Richelieu snapped.

Marmion turned toward him, right hand still covering the coin poised on the back of his left. "Perhaps you would like the chance to call your own fate?"

The Cardinal narrowed his eyes dangerously but didn't respond.

"No? What about someone else? Is there someone here braver than your King? Someone willing to gamble everything for the chance to live?"

A few whimpers were all that could be heard among the terrified courtiers.

There was a long, tense silence as Marmion waited.

"We won't play your game," Aramis finally called down.

Marmion slowly craned his neck up. After a beat, he moved away from the royals and walked away, disappearing from sight for a few moments until he reappeared coming up the staircase. Porthos tensed at the unnaturally fixated look on the man's face.

Aramis fidgeted slightly as Marmion walked up to him. The astronomer was shorter than him but there was an intensity in his bearing that set them all on edge. Then, without warning, Marmion shoved Aramis, hard, propelling him backward and through the window behind him. The sound of shattering glass exploded in Porthos's eardrums and he lunged.

"Aramis!"

"No!" d'Artagnan's cry echoed from below, along with screams. Outside a dragon screeched.

Porthos threw an elbow back into one thug's face and swung his bound arms like a club to clobber another. Three men leaped on him and he grunted with strain to throw them off. Below, d'Artagnan, Athos, and Joubert were making a hearty attempt at fighting back as well.

Another dragon roar rattled Porthos's rib cage as Savron appeared at the window, wings thwacking sharply and talons digging at the broken frame as he stuck his head inside, eyes alight with rage in search of the villain responsible.

Marmion ducked away from the dragon's snapping jaws and ran to the balcony railing where a pair of gloves sat. Snatching one up, he stuffed one hand into it and then reached into a pouch on his belt. He withdrew a fistful of something Porthos thought might have been refroidi. But it wasn't the crystallized compound to quench dragon fire. It was sulfuric yellow and Marmion threw it into Savron's eyes.

The dragon let out a pain filled shriek and reeled back, clawing at his face before he fell away from the window.

Marmion drew a pistol and fired into the ceiling, putting an end to the resistance.

Porthos was seething with fury. "I'm going to kill you."

Marmion gave him a heartless look and tucked the pistol back into his robes, then tugged the glove off and let it fall on the floor. Going to the railing, he leaned out to address everyone. "I, too, have lost friends. I, too, know the anguish of bereavement. The powerlessness, the injustice."

"You talk too much," Porthos growled.

Marmion considered him for a moment, then nodded to the three men currently holding Porthos down. "Take him to the cellar."

Porthos struggled with all his might as they started to drag him away. Marmion waved over some other men and they pulled the drapes over the window. Porthos had no idea where Vrita and Rhaego were, or what that bastard had done to Savron. And Aramis…

Porthos let out a raging bellow and slammed his captors into the wall, but they didn't let go and continued to drag him down the steps toward the lower levels. He fought the entire way but it didn't matter, and he was eventually hauled into a dark cellar and his wrists unbound so they could be clapped in irons instead. The chains were hooked to a bolt high up on the wall.

And then the door was slammed shut and he was left alone in the dark. He yanked and yanked against the chains, frustration and choking grief driving his fury.

No, he tore himself away from the threatening thought. Aramis wasn't dead. The dragons were outside. They'd get him help, get him back to the garrison if he was injured. He'd come through worse; he'd survive a fall out a window.

Because Porthos couldn't live in a world where he didn't.

.o.0.o.

Ayelet examined the strange object tied around Savron's back. All three of the adult dragons wore them. She sniffed the material earnestly. It was hard and somewhat rough but also smooth in places.

Leather, Savron supplied.

Ayelet mulled the word around in her mind. Savron gave her another one—saddle. It was so the humans could ride them, he told her. She thought they looked bulky and uncomfortable but now she wanted one too. She scampered over to examine Rhaego's next. The russet dragon stood abruptly and shuffled away from her.

She blinked in confusion at the brush-off. He seemed grumpy about something. Maybe she could cheer him up. She darted after him, sending up scattered snow and squeaking in delight at the crunchy white powder.

Rhaego rolled his eyes and moved away from her again toward the base of the large fort. Facing the wall, he turned his back on her.

Ayelet tilted her head, her good mood taking a dip at the blatant rejection. Vrita called her to come back over to them. Vrita and Savron were nice. Why didn't Rhaego like her?

She almost mustered up the nerve to climb over him and demand his attention anyway when the sound of something breaking high above shattered the afternoon tranquility. Ayelet looked up to see a figure falling backward out a window in a shower of glittering shards.

Rhaego screeched and leaped into the air. There wasn't time to spread his wings for proper flight and so he caught the human and then instantly folded himself around them as they both then went crashing to the ground. Rhaego rolled through some large bushes before coming to a violent stop.

Ayelet scrambled over to him as Savron let out a roar and launched himself up toward the window.

Rhaego shifted with several grunts, trying to get his left wing out from under him without jostling the body he was cradling. Ayelet squawked in alarm when she saw it was Rhaego's rider. Aramis's eyes were closed and he was limp. Bright crimson dotted several places on his face, neck, and hands, and a sharp metallic tang hit Ayelet's nose. Instinct told her what it was— _blood_.

Vrita arrived at their side and helped brace Aramis as Rhaego extricated his wing.

Savron suddenly let out a horrendous shriek and pushed away from the window. He jerked back and forth in the air before plummeting, landing with a loud thud on the ground where he immediately burrowed his face into the snow while thrashing. Vrita lumbered over to him.

Ayelet jerked her gaze between Savron, Aramis, and the window, her heart thudding erratically in her rib cage. This was all wrong, so wrong.

Rhaego shifted, carefully lifting Aramis in his talons and sweeping his tail back and forth urgently. When he'd cleared as much snow as he could, he gently laid his rider back on the ground and nudged his snout into Aramis's hair. The human didn't react.

Rhaego speared Ayelet with a look and told her to get the ropes off his hands. Her teeth were small enough there was less risk of her hurting him.

Ayelet jolted at the command but darted forward. She roved her gaze over the prone, lifeless body and felt her heart flutter. Aramis was nice, unlike his dragon. He was d'Artagnan's friend. She liked him.

She bent her head and began nipping at the rope tied around his wrists, too tentative at first and all she got was thin fibers on her tongue. Rhaego barked at her to hurry. She flinched at that but took a larger chunk of the rope in her mouth and started gnawing. She tried to be careful to avoid scraping flesh. Finally the rope snapped and she grabbed it between her teeth and yanked it off. Aramis's arms fell to the sides laxly.

Rhaego prodded him again, to no effect. He looked over to Savron and Vrita. Savron was keening lowly, his face partially buried in the snow. What parts Ayelet could see were spotted angry red and his eyes looked swollen. Vrita hovered over him worriedly, asking Savron what they should do. The silverback didn't answer, too consumed with pain. Vrita looked to Rhaego helplessly. Something bad was happening inside the fort, but there was no way for them to get in. If they tried the window they could be attacked like Savron. Rhaego gurgled unhappily.

Ayelet craned her neck back to look at the window. A covering had been placed over it, blocking out any attempts at seeing inside. Not that she could fly up there anyway. But her d'Artagnan was somewhere in there and what if he was hurt like Aramis and Savron?

The other dragons weren't paying attention to her, so she slunk away through the snow that easily camouflaged her coloring and made her way along the outer wall of the building. She found a rusty, busted grate on a culvert and crawled inside. It was a tight fit but she just made it. The stone corridor within was dark and dank and quiet. She shivered with trepidation before steeling herself and setting off determinedly to find her human.

.o.0.o.

Athos barely felt the bruising grip on his arms or registered the pistol aimed squarely at his chest. His eyes were fixed on the window above, now covered by a heavy drape. But he could still see the glass shattering, still saw Aramis pitching backward. That level was three stories up. There was no way he'd survive a fall from that height.

The courtiers were crying but their tears were for themselves. They didn't know Aramis; their world wasn't breaking into a million irreparable pieces at the loss.

Marmion stalked back down the stairs into the observatory, expression bland as though he cared not a whit for the murders he'd committed here today. He was a man dead inside.

Athos was acquainted with the feeling.

Marmion came to stand before the King and tossed his coin into the air again. He caught it and placed it on the back of his other hand, then motioned with his head and Athos was thrust forward a few steps into the center of the room.

"Call," Marmion told Louis. "If you call correctly, your musketeer lives. But get it wrong and he dies."

Louis shot a terrified look at Athos.

"Of course, you can always refuse," Marmion went on. "But then I'll just kill him anyway."

"No!" d'Artagnan yelled. "Your Majesty, don't! Don't play his game!"

Athos felt oddly detached as he stared down the barrel of the pistol pointed at his heart.

Marmion nodded to the thug standing over the Queen, and the man slipped a knife under her chin. She gasped and bit back a whimper, chin trembling.

"No!" Louis exclaimed, lurching from his chair, only to be grabbed and roughly shoved back into it.

"Call," Marmion repeated.

Louis threw Athos a helpless look and then ducked his gaze. "Heads," he whispered.

There was a hush across the room as Marmion lifted his hand to reveal the coin. It was heads. The man turned to Athos. "You get to live. Put him with the other."

Athos blinked, still too numb from shock to do anything except let himself be dragged from the room. How many times had he come close to death? How many times had he not cared whether it claimed him and then been disappointed when it hadn't? It had been a while since he'd felt so fatalistic. His brothers had given him something to live for.

And now here, his life had been spared at the toss of a coin while Aramis had been…

His throat threatened to close off. It wasn't fair. What kind of God would allow this? Aramis was the religious one. He was the one devoted to the faith. He was the one who should have been spared. Not Athos.

The goons brought him to a cellar and hauled him inside. Porthos was there, unharmed. Athos's ropes were exchanged for shackles, two separate chains on each wrist whose opposite ends were then attached to Porthos's own irons after being threaded through a loop bolted into the wall. Athos didn't even bother to give them an experimental tug as the men left, slamming and locking the door behind them.

"What happened?" Porthos asked urgently.

Athos slumped back against the wall. "Marmion is deciding our fates with a coin."

Which meant d'Artagnan and Joubert were probably next. If there was a God, then perhaps he was as cruel and capricious as Marmion, if he intended to take more from Athos this day.

Porthos gave his chains a violent jerk. "We have to get out of here."

Athos didn't say anything. If the others weren't brought to them within the next few minutes then that would mean…

"Athos!" Porthos snapped. "Don't you go givin' up on me now."

He thunked his head back against the cold stone.

"Come on, there must be somethin'!"

Athos knew he should try but he just couldn't bring himself to move.

"The dragons'll get help," Porthos went on. "An' Savron…he'll be all right."

Athos snapped his gaze up. "What?"

Porthos grimaced. "You didn't see? Savron was at the window. Marmion threw somethin' at him, looked like it hurt."

Athos's chest constricted. If he lost anyone else…

"Aramis'll be all right too."

Athos shook his head despondently. "Porthos…"

" _No_. You know Aramis. He ain't dead."

"Is that faith in God?" he mumbled.

"It's faith in Aramis."

Athos closed his eyes and wished he had such conviction to comfort the shattering in his heart.


	3. Chapter 3

D'Artagnan struggled futilely against the man holding him, helpless to do anything but watch as Marmion gestured for Joubert to be brought up next. The astronomer tossed his coin into the air.

"Call."

Louis's shoulders were shuddering as he flicked a harried gaze between the musketeer and the madman. "H-heads," he blurted, expression full of hope after Athos's brush of luck.

Marmion revealed the coin, and d'Artagnan's heart plummeted. Tails.

"No." D'Artagnan looked at Joubert, the musketeer's eyes wide at the pronouncement of his fate. "No—"

But no one heeded his pleading and in the next moment, Joubert's guard drew a pistol and shot him point blank in the back. The women screamed and hid their eyes. D'Artagnan yelled in outrage as Joubert fell, the back of his coat smoking with gunpowder transfer from being so close to the barrel.

Another man came to help restrain d'Artagnan as he thrashed against his captors, tears pricking his eyes as Joubert's body was callously dragged from the room. He knew he was next, that with the flip of a coin he would either be joining Athos and Porthos in the cellar or Aramis and Joubert in the grave. His heart constricted as he thought of Constance. Oh God…he loved her so much. And he'd been in a hurry that morning. Why hadn't he taken the time to tell her he loved her? Taken the time to kiss her with the full passion that she deserved instead of that fleeting peck on the cheek? And now he may never get the chance to again.

"Stop this, please!" the Queen begged.

Marmion regarded her coldly. "You think me cruel. But life is cruel. One person lives, another dies. There is no reason or rhyme to it. We make our choices and then fate intervenes."

"You speak of fate while orchestrating this barbaric exhibition," the Cardinal snarled.

"And yet I follow the rules," Marmion countered, holding the coin up between his thumb and forefinger. "It is God who decides which way the lot falls." He turned back to the King, eyes hardening. "But some of us have the dice loaded in our favor by wealth and privilege. Some of you don't know what it is to make harsh choices. In your ease and comfort, you have never had to face them."

"Life is about choice, Marmion," Louis dared to speak. "It can't be avoided. And some choices are unpleasant and they have to be made. But there are always consequences."

"My point exactly," the madman replied. "And a king's choices are the hardest of all. I am glad to see you engaging in the spirit of the game." He looked at the two men standing behind the Queen. "Take her."

Anne gasped as she was hauled out of her chair.

D'Artagnan's heart lurched. No, let it be him! It was supposed to be his turn!

"No!" Louis yelled, twisting around in his seat as Anne was manhandled from the room. "No!"

His guards shoved him back into the chair.

"I beg you not to harm her!" Louis pleaded.

Marmion gave him a simpering moue. "It is not up to me. It is you who must choose." He nodded to some of his other men. "Take the others."

The courtiers yelped and sobbed as they were herded away next.

"What are you going to do with them?" d'Artagnan demanded.

"Only what fate decides," Marmion replied casually. "Tie him up. He can be the witness to the game."

D'Artagnan continued to struggle as he was dragged aside and his back slammed against a support column. Another length of rope was lashed across his chest and wound around the pillar multiple times until he was secure, the cords digging painfully into his chest if he strained too hard.

"Time to make a choice, Your Majesty," Marmion said, taking the Queen's vacated seat.

Louis looked up with haunted expectation. "What choice?"

Marmion waved forward another of his men dressed in one of the robes. "Shall I send this man into room one or room two?"

Louis swallowed hard. "What do these rooms contain?" he asked pitifully.

D'Artagnan broke into a cold sweat; he could guess what they contained…

"In one of them is your queen. In the other, four of your loyal courtiers. So, which room is it to be?"

"What do you intend to do?" d'Artagnan asked.

The man in question drew a machete, and d'Artagnan's eyes blew wide in horror.

"Your Majesty, do not answer him," Richelieu interjected sharply. "I will handle this." He made a move to rise from his seat but a thug grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back down again.

A small part of d'Artagnan wondered if the Cardinal had ever been in a situation where he didn't possess some measure of control.

Marmion smirked at Richelieu. "Sadly, the King's answer is the only one that matters."

"You will burn in Hell for this," Richelieu seethed.

"I've been there already. It doesn't frighten me anymore." He turned his attention back to the King. "Choose."

Louis shook his head, distraught. "You can't mean it."

"You can't be so much of a monster," d'Artagnan jumped in. Maybe if he could draw Marmion's ire toward him, he could buy time for the Queen… His stomach twisted at the thought, but it was his duty to protect the King and Queen, even with his life.

Marmion lolled his gaze to d'Artagnan but didn't seem to be taking the bait. "I wasn't once," he replied blandly. "But this world made me one." He turned his piercing gaze back to the King. "Now, choose. Which room?"

Louis's chin trembled. "I don't know who is where," he lamented.

Marmion's lip ticked upward. "That's the beauty of it. A choice made blind. Hoping for the best."

Louis continued to shake his head in denial. "I don't know what you've done with my wife."

"What harm has the Queen done?" d'Artagnan tried again to divert attention. "Or any of us?"

"It is not me who would injure them," Marmion responded, unfazed. "Fate will decide and the King is the vehicle of fate."

"How can I make such a choice when the stakes are so high?" Louis exclaimed.

Marmion smiled. "Now you are learning the game. Choose, or I will send this man into both rooms."

Louis rocked back and forth where he sat, expression twisted in anguish. D'Artagnan strained against the ropes.

"Your Majesty—" Richelieu started but Marmion cut him off.

"The first room or the second? One or two?"

Louis looked up to meet Marmion's gaze. D'Artagnan shook his head in silent plea.

Louis's mouth moved soundlessly. " _One_."

Marmion nodded to his man, who immediately left.

"May God forgive me," Louis sobbed, dropping his face into his hands.

D'Artagnan sagged in defeat. Richelieu turned his eyes toward Heaven.

As if God would help them now.

.o.0.o.

Aramis woke to being jostled, the slight movement igniting a host of aches and pains throughout his body. Except for his right side, which was numb from cold. A shiver ripped through him as he was shifted onto his left and he came into contact with a chilled surface again. He prized his eyelids open groggily. Something snuffled his hair.

"Rhaego," he murmured, moving his arm blindly to reach for his dragon. His fingers brushed over cool scales and the body around him jerked with an urgent gurgle.

Aramis craned his neck toward the sound. Rhaego's nose was inches from his face. A lithe leg was wrapped around his torso, cupping him securely, and a wing was stretched overhead, creating a quasi sort of burrow. He winced when something sharp poked the back of his neck and he reached behind his head to feel for what it was. A large piece of glass was stuffed down his collar and he pulled it out, giving it a dubious look. The edge was tinted red and Aramis noticed his hand was all cut up.

He tossed the broken shard away and tried to sit up. Rhaego mewled in concern and shifted his wing out of the way. The ensuing glare of sunlight pierced Aramis's skull like a spike and he squeezed his eyes shut against it. He felt Rhaego press his forehead against his shoulder to brace him. Aramis rested a hand on his dragon's neck and gave himself a moment to adjust to the light.

Once his head stopped screaming, he carefully opened his eyes again. He was outside on a patch of frost-covered ground surrounded by snow, without his cloak or gloves. That explained the cold. Looking around, he recognized the old fort and the tower that had been converted into an observatory. And he'd ended up outside…he tilted his head back to look up at a broken third-story window. Memory rushed back: the sensation of falling, the abrupt impact, and then darkness. Surveying his condition, he concluded Rhaego must have caught him before he hit the ground.

"God never ceases to send you to my rescue," Aramis murmured, giving his dragon a fond pat.

He pushed himself to his feet, using Rhaego for support. The crisp winter air made a myriad of cuts across his face, neck, and hands begin to sting anew, and a sharp pain shot through the back of his right leg, threatening not to hold his weight. He hissed and forced himself to remain standing.

A throaty caw drew his attention away from the house to where Vrita was standing over Savron, who was lying on his side in the snow not moving. Aramis quickly hobbled toward them, Rhaego following close behind.

"Savron?"

The dragon let out a low keen but didn't move. Aramis sank to one knee with a grimace and got a good look at the side of Savron's face, which was blistered and red around swollen eyes.

"My God." Aramis whipped his gaze around but there was no one else outside. Everyone must still be inside the fort…the King and Queen! Marmion had taken everyone hostage and wanted to force Louis to play some sort of sick game. Aramis needed to get back in there. But first…

He twisted around. "Rhaego, my bag."

Rhaego swung sideways to give Aramis easy access to his saddle—which was a crumpled mess halfway down his side. Aramis could only guess what kind of landing they must have had when Rhaego saved him. He dug through his bag for one of the tins he carried as part of his medic kit. It was a burn salve, and while he couldn't be sure what had caused such damage to Savron's face, the area was horribly inflamed and looked scalded.

Aramis opened the tin and dipped two fingers into the balm to scoop out a liberal amount. Then he placed his other hand on Savron's head. "Easy now," he soothed. "I'm going to apply some salve. Don't move."

He felt Savron tense beneath him but went ahead and began to spread the greasy unguent over the dragon's face. Savron whimpered but held perfectly still as he'd been instructed.

"That's it." Aramis gently rolled his head to reach the other side, horrified to find the right half of his face in much the same condition, although slightly less raw, perhaps from lying in the snow.

Aramis finished applying the balm and rocked back on his haunches, wincing as something jabbed the back of his leg again. After a moment's thought, he untied his sash from around his waist, bits of broken glass falling loose to disappear into the snow, and gingerly wrapped the fabric around Savron's head to cover the wounds.

"I'm afraid that's all I can do for now." He looked at Vrita. "Go back to the garrison for help."

She flicked a worried look at Savron before slowly backing away to leap into the air. Aramis watched her fly off, then shifted his gaze to the sun. It was still partially obscured by the moon passing over it, so it couldn't have been too long that he'd been unconscious. There was a chance the others were still alive. But how to get back in without being caught?

He pushed himself to his feet again with a pained grunt and turned to fix Rhaego's saddle. "I need you to take me in from above," he said.

He straightened the saddle and then tried to heave himself up into it. Rhaego ducked his head around and under to give him a boost with his nose. Once he secured his anchor line to his belt, he tapped his dragon to signal he was ready, and Rhaego launched into the sky.

Aramis scanned the windows of the fort, hoping there weren't any lookouts that would spot him. Rhaego made a quick ascent and then settled into a circling pattern right above the structure.

"Land there," Aramis directed, and Rhaego swooped down to alight on the roof. Aramis carefully lifted his injured leg over the dragon's neck to slide out of the saddle and stepped to the edge to look down. There was a window open a crack several feet down that he could gain entrance through.

"Right," he breathed, taking three steadying breaths before he turned his back to the ledge to position himself for rappelling down the side of the building. Normally he wouldn't balk at such a maneuver but since he _had_ just fallen three stories and was still smarting from it, he wasn't exactly eager to make a repeat occurrence.

Meeting Rhaego's gaze for a final, grave look, Aramis stepped off the edge. He gripped the anchor line with both hands, the tautness of his tendons further splitting the various cuts on his skin, but he simply gritted his teeth and focused on slowly lowering himself down. His leg twinged with each scramble for purchase and he almost slipped a few times. But Rhaego was a steady anchor above, holding fast as Aramis gradually made his way down to the window. He had to pause to glance inside and make sure the coast was clear. Then, once his feet were securely on the sill, he unhooked his safety line and let it dangle out the window as he hopped inside.

He heard scuffing noises and immediately limped toward the wall to take cover. There were muffled sounds, then blood-curdling screams echoed through the air. Aramis froze. Every instinct was urging him to act but he had no weapons and no idea what was happening.

Then it all abruptly stopped. The silence was cloying. Aramis peeked out into the hall. Seeing no one, he ventured forth, ducking behind an archway again when someone passed by the juncture at the end of the hall. One of Marmion's men.

Aramis crept forward, and when the man didn't come back this way, he edged out. There were bloody boot prints in the dust-laden floor and Aramis followed them backward with a pit forming in his stomach. Through a cracked door, he saw a pair of stockinged legs and formal slippers in a puddle of blood.

Aramis turned away from the grisly sight. Backtracking the way he'd come, he went down a little ways and spotted one of Marmion's men sitting on a bench outside a closed door. The only reason to be doing that was to be standing guard over something.

Aramis exhaled heavily and grimaced. He still didn't have any weapons. There was nothing for it, though. Taking a breath and gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg, he sauntered into view and leaned against the doorjamb.

"So, what did you think of the eclipse?" he asked jauntily. "Quite the spectacle."

As expected, the guard merely stared at him in bewilderment, and Aramis casually moved on out of sight. A few seconds later came the sound of hurrying footsteps. Aramis braced himself as the man charged around the corner, grabbing his arm holding a wickedly long knife and flinging him into the wall. He slammed the guy's sword arm against the plaster until the blade dropped to the ground. The guard swung a fist, catching Aramis in the jaw and propelling him back a step. A second punch to the stomach nearly winded him. Aramis grunted as he hit the wall but managed to duck another swing and snatched the guard's pistol from his belt. Knowing that firing a shot could alert others, Aramis gripped the handle with both hands and swung with all his might, clobbering the guard in the face with the barrel. The man went down hard and didn't get up.

There was a key ring on his belt and Aramis quickly knelt to retrieve it, then lumbered back to the door he'd been guarding. He burst through the doors and was surprised to find the Queen on the other side. She let out a frightened gasp and recoiled against the wall before realizing it was him.

"Aramis!"

"Your Majesty! Are you all right?"

She stared at him incredulously. "Y-yes. My God, we thought you dead."

"So did I for a moment there," he replied, closing the door behind him and rushing to the window to open it. "The King?"

"Still alive, last I saw."

Good, that was good. He struggled with the rusted latch but finally got it open, then leaned out and whistled.

"Aramis," Anne said hesitantly. "Joubert…Marmion killed him."

Aramis stiffened and whirled back around. "Are- are you certain?"

She nodded regretfully. "They shot him. I'm sorry."

His throat tightened. "The others?"

"Athos and Porthos were taken to the cellar. D'Artagnan was still alive last I saw as well."

Aramis let out a shuddering breath but he pushed his grief aside. He had to protect the Queen. He leaned out the window and craned his head to look up. Rhaego pulled up into a hover above him, the anchor line swinging from the saddle. Aramis grabbed it and quickly fashioned a large loop harness. Then he gestured to the Queen.

She hurried to his side, only for her eyes to widen in understanding as he slipped the rope over her head and began working it down around her arms.

"Apologies, Your Majesty," he said, his hands briskly skipping over her body as he secured the harness. He couldn't worry about propriety in the middle of a life and death situation.

"I don't—"

"This is the quickest way to safety," he said.

He edged her toward the sill, keeping an arm around her waist as he tugged on the line to get his dragon's attention.

"Take her to Savron and guard them both."

Rhaego barked in understanding.

"Aramis, please…"

He paused to look her in the eyes. "Do you trust me?"

Her lips pressed into a thin, tremulous line, but she nodded.

"Rhaego will look after you." Aramis flashed her a reassuring smile. "He's good at his job. Who do you think saved me?"

The barest smile flickered across her face before the terror returned. But Anne staunchly turned to face the window and three-story drop. Aramis gave the anchor line two succinct tugs, and then Rhaego was gliding away. Anne yelped and held on for dear life. Aramis waited and watched as they swooped down toward the ground and Rhaego pulled up several feet above touching down to give Anne a chance to slip out of the harness. It was only a three-foot drop for her and once she was safely on the ground, Aramis turned away from the window to make his way back to the King and his brothers.


	4. Chapter 4

Porthos let out a frustrated grunt as he strained futilely against the chains. Damn it, he couldn't get them loose. He cast a sideways glance to his right where Athos remained slumped against the wall in defeat. Porthos gritted his teeth; it wasn't like Athos to give up. Yeah, things were bad, but they'd been through worse. Aramis had been through worse. But their brother might need them and Porthos couldn't carry them all.

"Can you reach that?" he asked, thrusting his chin toward a hook in the wall on Athos's other side.

Athos lolled his gaze up to it and didn't move for a moment. Then, almost as an afterthought, he stretched his arm out. His fingers barely brushed the surface before he dropped from the strain.

"Try again."

Athos reached again, tugging the chain attached to Porthos's own shackles. He clenched his jaw as it jerked his arm taut. But then the chain went slack as Athos dropped his own arm again.

"It's no use."

Porthos gave his chains another violent thrash in response. "Damn you, don't just stand there. Help me find a way out of here!"

"D'Artagnan is probably dead," Athos said tonelessly. "If the coin toss had been favorable, he would have been brought down here by now. Face it, Porthos, he and Aramis are gone."

" _No_ ," Porthos snarled. "Not until I see the bodies." He would not— _could not_ —let himself go there. Because then he would shatter, just like Athos had, and that bastard Marmion would win.

He craned his neck back and scanned the cellar in search of something, anything, they could use to free themselves. But aside from the hook they couldn't reach, the cell was bare.

A muffled noise came from outside the door and Porthos straightened. Maybe the guards were bringing d'Artagnan after all…

There was a grunt followed by a heavy thud, and then the sound of a key turning in the lock. The door opened, and Porthos's breath punched from his lungs in a whoosh.

"Aramis!"

He knew it, he knew that fall wouldn't have killed his stubborn, resilient, has more lives than a cat brother. Although he certainly hadn't expected Aramis to come waltzing in to _their_ rescue.

Or, limping would be a more accurate estimation, Porthos noted as Aramis hobbled toward him and quickly set to unlocking the chains. His eyes took in every scratch and trickle of blood, but Aramis was _alive_.

The shackles fell off and Aramis went to Athos next.

Athos gawked at him in stupefaction. "How?"

"Rhaego caught me. I was out for a while, not sure how long. I found the Queen in a room upstairs and got her out. She's safe with Rhaego and Savron. Last she saw, the King was still alive in the observatory. Vrita's gone to the garrison for reinforcements."

Porthos shook his head in disbelief. Only Aramis could manage to fall out a three-story window and still come out the hero.

"Why was the Queen upstairs?" Athos asked, slipping back into his professional demeanor now that some of his grief had been assuaged.

"I don't know. Another game perhaps." Aramis's mouth pressed into a grim line. "The courtiers were in another room. They're dead."

Porthos shared a sharp look with Athos. _D'Artagnan_ …

Aramis turned and led the way out of the cell, stopping to snatch the guard's pistols and sword from him, which he passed to Porthos and Athos. Aramis was moving stiffly, but there was no time to stop and address it. They had a king to save.

Porthos moved up to his brother's side to flank him. "Hey, next time use a door, a'right?"

Aramis flashed him a wry look, and then they set off down the corridor back toward the observatory.

.o.0.o.

The room was quiet save for the occasional scuff of a shoe or swish of robes. Louis had his feet drawn up on the chair he was sitting in, knees pulled in and chin tucked into them like a child. Marmion sat dispassionately in the chair beside him while the Cardinal glared daggers from the box stand to the King's left. D'Artagnan had given up trying to wriggle free of the ropes holding him to the support column. It would just draw attention and he'd never get far anyway.

The staccato sound of steady footsteps broke the monotony, and he looked up as the man with the machete returned. The blade was dripping blood on the floor and his hands were splattered with it.

Louis's eyes went wide and he snapped his gaze to Marmion. "Who did you kill?"

The astronomer regarded him coolly.

"Who did you kill!" the King wailed.

"Goddamn you!" d'Artagnan shouted. "Don't torment him!"

Marmion smirked smugly. "The Queen is alive," he said.

Louis choked on a sob of relief.

D'Artagnan, however, felt cold. "Did you kill the others?"

"It was the King's choice that sealed their fate," Marmion replied uncaringly.

All four of the courtiers, the men and the women… "It had nothing to do with fate!" d'Artagnan snapped. "You murdered them!"

"I take no pleasure in their deaths."

He said it so nonchalantly but d'Artagnan didn't buy it. He was enjoying the psychological torment.

"What happened to you? What made you like this?"

"I had to make choices once. Impossible choices. Life for one, death for another. Playing God with the lives of the people I loved." He turned hard eyes back on the King. "Now you also know what it feels like—the gift of life and death. For the first time in your life, you understand what _your_ choices really mean."

"The King's choices are hard but they are always for the good of France!" the Cardinal proclaimed.

Marmion's eyes flashed darkly. "What is France without the people who make up its backbone? What is France without the taxes we pay and the food we grow so that you may sit in your palace walls enjoying the fruits of our toils? And yet you deem yourselves of more value than us."

"So how does this end, Marmion?" d'Artagnan interjected. "Hm? You kill us all and then what? What have you achieved?"

"Balance. A harmony in nature. A shout of defiance in the face of an indifferent universe."

"Spare us the philosophic drivel," Richelieu said scornfully.

Marmion's eyes narrowed dangerously on the Cardinal for a long moment. "Does the name Gerberoy mean anything to you?"

"No," he answered too quickly, as though whether he did know or not didn't matter to him.

"It is—or was—a village an hour or two east from here. The kind of humble place a gentleman rides through quickly. But it was home to a community of a hundred souls or more. It was our home. One day the plague struck without warning. People who were healthy at sunrise were dying by nightfall."

"And you blame the King for this?" Richelieu interrupted indignantly. "Man cannot control the plague."

"The plague was harsh, but it was burning itself out," Marmion said. "We even began to believe God had spared us the worst of it." His expression hardened and he turned to Louis. "Then orders came from the King. The village was to be blockaded to prevent the spread of infection. Anyone who tried to escape was shot."

D'Artagnan swallowed hard. He didn't like where this was going.

"Plague villages have to be contained to save other lives," Louis insisted.

"Food should have been left for us," Marmion rejoined. "But it never came. It wasn't infection that killed us. It was hunger. _You_ starved us to death out of sheer indifference." He leaned back in his seat. "I had to look at my family, my wife, our two boys. I had to choose who would get the scraps of food I scavenged. Choose who should live and die."

D'Artagnan closed his eyes, aggrieved at the tale. He couldn't imagine the horror, the desperation. Although it certainly didn't justify _this_.

"My wife wouldn't touch a bite while her children were hungry. She withered away before my eyes. At the end, I only had enough food for one of my dying boys. I had to choose between them…but I loved them both too much. So I tossed a coin and let fate decide. My youngest was saved. But a week later, he died anyway." Marmion leaned forward again, skewering the King with his deadened, soulless eyes. "Now you also know what it feels like to condemn one innocent to save another."

Louis looked away.

"We are all that's left of our village," Marmion went on. "We should have died, but we didn't. We were kept alive for a purpose. Gerberoy is gone but we shall see it is never forgotten."

"No, you and its inhabitants will go down in history as traitors and murderers," the Cardinal spat. "God will judge you for this. You have taken His mercy and used it for your own twisted purposes."

D'Artagnan didn't know whether to be relieved or nervous at the way Marmion slowly shifted his piercing gaze from the King to Richelieu.

"You spout the will of God but are you willing to trust your own fate to it?" Marmion beckoned his men over. "Take him."

"What are you doing?" Louis exclaimed fearfully.

Richelieu sputtered indignantly as he was roughly hauled to his feet and manhandled from the room. His scathing protests faded and soon there was silence once more.

Marmion waited another few beats before leering at the King. "Time to choose again, Your Majesty. Room one or room two?"

"But…my wife, she's in room two."

Marmion shrugged. "Perhaps she still is. Perhaps she isn't. Choose."

"No…" Louis shook his head. "Please don't."

"Choose, or I will send this man into both and both your queen and first minister will die."

Louis broke down into a strangled sob.

D'Artagnan wanted to hit something, wanted to scream. But he was helpless. Helpless to stop more people from dying.

A soft gurgle sounded behind him and d'Artagnan glanced over his shoulder. His eyes widened as he saw Ayelet slinking toward him, her head bobbing up and down as she took in the room. D'Artagnan had no idea how she'd gotten in here and he was both thrilled and alarmed that she had.

He flicked his gaze back to Marmion, but the madman was solely focused on the King. His men, likewise, were watching their leader, awaiting his command. D'Artagnan turned back to his dragon.

"Pst." He wiggled slightly, casting a pointed look at the ropes and hoping Ayelet would understand.

Her eyes lit up and she crept closer, then reached for the ropes with her teeth. D'Artagnan shot harried glances between Marmion and her progress, praying she'd chew through them any second now…

"Marmion!" one of the guards exclaimed.

D'Artagnan mentally cursed as several gazes snapped his way.

Marmion stood and strode toward him, brows arching as he caught sight of Ayelet. She noticed they'd been caught and abandoned her attempts at freeing d'Artagnan in order to dart around and plant herself between him and the astronomer. She arched her back and spat defensively.

"Where did this runt come from?" Marmion mused aloud. He pulled a glove from his pocket and slipped his hand into it, then reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a fistful of some yellow powder d'Artagnan didn't recognize.

"Ayelet, no!" he yelled, straining against his bonds.

The little dragon hissed and chittered menacingly at the approaching threat but didn't run. Marmion drew his arm back to throw the powder at her.

A pistol shot cracked the air and Marmion cried out as a musket ball struck his hand. Then he screamed as the yellow powder showered down on his head. D'Artagnan was momentarily stunned, but then the room erupted in chaos as more shots were fired from the doorway and Marmion's men charged the assailants.

"Ayelet!" d'Artagnan called urgently.

She whipped back around and leaped up to snatch a chunk of rope between her teeth and start ripping. Marmion had stumbled away, howling as he clutched his face.

The ropes finally snapped and fell loose and d'Artagnan immediately lunged at one of the thugs, swinging his still bound hands like a club into the guy's face. He then snatched the man's sword from him and drove the point into the floor so it would stand long enough for him to slice through the last of his bonds. Then he yanked the blade out and dove into the fray, fighting his way toward Louis who was cowering on the floor as the battle raged around him.

D'Artagnan spotted the man with the machete and roared as he brandished his blade against him. The ruffian managed to throw his blade up to block, but Ayelet darted in and clamped her jaws around his leg. He threw his head back and screamed. D'Artagnan slid his sword free and thrust it through the blackguard's chest.

More guards came pouring into the room at the fight sounds. The musketeers were outnumbered. But they fought with everything they had.

D'Artagnan bumped into someone at his back and whirled, only to freeze for a split second in shock. Aramis!

His presumed-dead brother gave him a clipped nod before swiping his sword at an opponent. D'Artagnan could have laughed if a blade hadn't come slicing toward his head at that moment. He threw his sword up to block, the impact rattling bones. He kicked out the man's kneecap and followed through with a stab to the heart.

Ayelet shrieked and launched herself at another, tackling him to the floor and tearing at his face with her claws.

D'Artagnan, Aramis, Athos, and Porthos found themselves all flanking the King as Marmion's surviving men surrounded them with armed pistols. Someone pulled the trigger.

But it was one of the varlets who pitched forward to land face first on the floor. And then musketeers were pouring in from behind them and in an astonishing turn of events, Marmion's men were now the ones outnumbered. D'Artagnan and the others faltered as the fight was no longer directed at them. Not that it mattered. Within moments, those with half a brain realized they had lost and began to surrender.

"Your Majesty!" Treville pushed his way forward toward them.

D'Artagnan reached down to help the King to his feet.

"Treville," the poor man stammered. "Thank God."

"Are you all right?" Treville looked him over worriedly.

"Anne," Louis bleated. "They took her away. And the Cardinal."

"The Queen is safe outside," Treville said. "We're securing the house. We'll find the Cardinal."

Louis staggered toward Treville and gripped his arms desperately. "I must see her. Is she all right?"

Treville started to lead him away, giving him plenty of assurances and instructing his men to search for the Cardinal.

Porthos huffed. "Can't we jus' leave him wherever he is for a while?"

Aramis smirked, and d'Artagnan abruptly drew him into an embrace. Aramis flinched but patted d'Artagnan's shoulder fondly.

D'Artagnan quickly drew back with a frown as he got a look at the myriad of injuries the marksman was sporting. "Don't take this the wrong way, but how on earth did you survive that fall?"

Aramis shrugged one shoulder. "Rhaego."

D'Artagnan couldn't help but grin. "Of course."

Ayelet mewled and started pawing at his leg. He reached down to pat her head.

"And you did amazing."

Aramis let out a soft sound of dismay. "I had no idea she'd gotten in here. I- I hadn't even noticed she wasn't outside when I woke up."

"I imagine you had other things on your mind," Athos put in.

Aramis nodded, his expression turning grave. "Savron was wounded. Whatever that powder Marmion had burned his eyes. I treated them as best I could before coming back but we should get him to Jean."

D'Artagnan stiffened and looked around. Speaking of that bastard…

They all followed the sounds of painful whimpering and found said madman writhing on the floor behind the box stand, his face splotched with horrible burns. D'Artagnan grimaced at the sight but couldn't muster up much compassion for him, after everything he'd done.

Athos waved over some musketeers to take the man into custody. "Where's Joubert?" he asked, looking around.

D'Artagnan's heart twinged with anguish. One of them had miraculously survived but the other hadn't been so lucky. "He's dead."

Athos looked away. A muscle in Porthos's jaw ticked. Aramis closed his eyes in grief.

After a long moment, Athos looked up again. "Let's get the hell out of here."

D'Artagnan couldn't agree more.


	5. Chapter 5

The fighting may have been over and the King and Queen secured, but it was a slow, painstaking process getting everyone together to leave. D'Artagnan trekked up the stairs behind his brothers to the upper level where they retrieved their cloaks before heading outside. There was a large handful of Marmion's people being rounded up, men and women. The last survivors of Gerberoy. They looked thin and cowed, d'Artagnan noted, eyes hollow instead of hateful. He wondered how many of them truly shared Marmion's desire for revenge.

Out in the yard, Treville and several musketeers protectively stood around Louis as he tearfully reunited with the Queen. A little ways from them were Rhaego, Vrita, and some other dragons and their riders clustered around Savron. Athos made a beeline toward them.

D'Artagnan followed.

"Savron?" Athos called worriedly.

His dragon shifted his head toward the sound of his rider's voice, and d'Artagnan saw his eyes were swathed in what looked like Aramis's sash.

"We were just preparing to head back to the garrison," Cornet informed them, holding a lead rope in his hands.

Athos wordlessly took it from him, Savron being his responsibility.

D'Artagnan watched him speak softly to his dragon as he gingerly slipped the rope over Savron's head without brushing the makeshift bandage.

Vrita spared a moment to trill happily at Porthos before she stepped close to Savron in support.

"Your Majesties!" the Cardinal's grating voice shattered the solemnity.

"Oh joy, they found 'im," Porthos muttered.

D'Artagnan glanced over as Richelieu strode toward the King and Queen like a cyclone on the warpath. Marmion would probably regret that powder not killing him.

Their group then began the long slow file out of the old fort's grounds. Louis and Anne still seemed shaken as they were ushered into their carriage. The other one had no passengers to carry back to the city, but the Cardinal didn't even allow it to be used to cart the women prisoners; he deemed a long march in the snow part of their punishment.

Athos led a blind Savron up to the road, Vrita hemming him in on one side and Cornet's dragon on the other. Rhaego stuck close to Aramis, whose pace slowed significantly as they reached the slope. He paused with a grimace, his hand absently reaching down to his leg as he began to limp. There was a glistening wetness in his hair that was a shade too red to be anything but blood, and d'Artagnan was starkly reminded yet again that he'd gone out a third story window. Looking back, he saw the broken gap that had been Aramis's exit. The view from out here was decidedly worse.

Aramis stopped abruptly, putting a hand out to Rhaego to brace himself. Rhaego lowered himself to the ground and gave his rider a pointed look. With a huff, Aramis heaved himself into the saddle, grimacing as the motion pulled some various wound or other. Then Rhaego stood and they continued on their way, following behind the rest.

D'Artagnan passed off his and Joubert's horses to help bear some of the bodies back. He preferred to walk with his friends.

All trace of the moon was gone from the sun's surface and thicker clouds had rolled in again by the time they reached the city. A group of red guards had apparently been summoned to meet them and take the prisoners off their hands, herding the group of men and women toward the Chatelet. Treville went on with a contingent to the palace to see the King and Queen safely home, leaving the rest of them to make their way to the garrison to tend their injured.

Jean and Constance were waiting for them when they arrived.

"Ayelet!" Constance exclaimed the moment d'Artagnan walked through the gates with the little dragon. "I've been so worried!"

"She snuck off after me," d'Artagnan explained.

"You are in so much trouble," Constance chastised, but then she caught sight of Savron and her eyes widened in alarm.

Jean rushed over and immediately began asking for a report of what happened. Aramis dismounted too quickly from Rhaego, his injured leg nearly buckling in his haste to answer Jean's questions. Constance hurried over as well to help her father as Jean peeled back Aramis's sash to look at Savron's face. Jean grimaced.

"Constance, fetch the special salve from the compound, the—"

"Blue tin," she finished. "And honey?"

"Yes."

D'Artagnan hung back, not wanting to get in the way as Jean and Athos led Savron back toward the dens to tend his wounds. Aramis started to accompany them but Porthos grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Yer a right mess yerself."

Aramis winced. For a moment he looked like he wanted to shrug off Porthos's concern and go with Savron, but then his shoulders slumped in resignation and he let himself be led to the infirmary. D'Artagnan hesitated before deciding to follow them. Doctor Lemay would be attending the King and Queen, which meant the musketeers would have to muddle through patching up Aramis themselves.

Ayelet started toward the dens.

"No," d'Artagnan said a tad sternly. "Jean and Constance need to work. Leave them be for now."

She made a disgruntled sounding gurgle and plopped down where she stood. D'Artagnan headed into the infirmary.

Inside, Aramis was shrugging out of his coat, hissing sharply as he did so.

"What's the worst of it?" Porthos asked.

"I honestly have no idea," Aramis answered tiredly. The events of the day were catching up to all of them, but nearly dying definitely topped the list of exhaustion inducing ordeals.

"Start at the top and work our way down?" d'Artagnan suggested.

Porthos shrugged and grabbed a bucket from under the window. "We're gonna need water."

"I'll get it."

D'Artagnan took the bucket and went out to the well. He saw Constance hurrying back from the dragon compound with the salve and honey. He hoped Savron would be all right. To think that monster Marmion had almost used that powder on Ayelet…

D'Artagnan wrenched himself away from could-haves and headed back to the infirmary. Rhaego was sitting outside, doleful eyes fixed on the doors he couldn't fit through.

"He's all right, you know," d'Artagnan said.

Another could-have he didn't want to dwell on.

Rhaego let out a heavy sigh and turned his gaze toward the dens.

"You should go see Savron," d'Artagnan added. "Aramis would understand."

The russet dragon hesitated for another beat before giving in and shuffling his way toward the dens. D'Artagnan knew _he'd_ stay out of everyone's way while they tended Savron.

Coming back inside, he pulled up short in consternation as he found Ayelet had somehow gotten into the room and was currently standing upright with her two front legs on the bed Aramis was sitting on and sniffing him so hard she was poking her nose into his back.

"Ayelet, you can't be in here," he chided, bringing the water over.

She shot him a sour look and backed up, bumping into the next cot and pushing it across the floor a few inches.

"Seems she has a problem listenin'," Porthos commented. "Remind you of another young scamp, don' it?" he asked, prodding Aramis, whose eyes were drifting closed.

"Mm, she's learning," Aramis replied, sounding half asleep at this point. A dunk in freezing water would change that.

Porthos had found a second bucket and set it on the floor between Aramis's legs. D'Artagnan set the water to one side and grabbed an empty bowl from a work table. Then Porthos had Aramis lean forward and d'Artagnan started scooping water from one bucket and pouring it over Aramis's head. He yelped at the first cold splash and nearly bolted upright, but Porthos clapped a hand gently on the back of his neck to hold him still.

D'Artagnan flushed out Aramis's head until the streams of water from his soaked hair stopped running red. Porthos didn't let him up though, not until d'Artagnan had taken a small towel to his scalp and performed a search for more broken glass. When he didn't find any, Porthos finally let Aramis sit up.

"These all look pretty small," d'Artagnan commented, surveying the nicks and cuts on Aramis's face, neck, and hands.

Aramis gestured for him to pass the towel over, which he used to clean himself up. He started shivering by that point, his wet hair soaking into the top of his shirt.

D'Artagnan straightened with an idea. Since she insisted on being in here…

"Ayelet, a _very_ small burst of fire to light the hearth would be really helpful."

She perked up and bounded over to the fireplace, eager to assist as he'd suspected she'd be. Still, he watched with slight trepidation as she kindled her dragon fire and belched it onto the wood already stacked there. He smiled in relief and pride when it was just a small burst, enough to catch the wood without flames whooshing out over the mantel.

"Good girl."

"Alright, let's get you closer to the fire," Porthos said, taking Aramis's arm and helping him to stand, but Aramis stumbled immediately and Porthos's quick reflexes kept him from pitching to the floor. "Whoa, or not."

D'Artagnan quickly knelt down to examine his leg while Porthos held him up. "Hang on…there's a pretty nasty tear here." He stuck his fingers between the torn leather at the back of Aramis's thigh and widened the gap. "Um, looks like a piece of the window frame." He stood up. "I'll find some tweezers."

"Okay, back down," Porthos said. "An' off with those trousers."

"Porthos," Aramis admonished with mock scandal. "I haven't had enough wine for that. Or any for that matter… But help me to the fire first," he said more seriously. "It's freezing."

D'Artagnan rifled through the items in one of the cupboards until he found a pair of tweezers. He would have preferred Lemay for this next bit, but it shouldn't be too hard.

Porthos helped Aramis hop to the back of the infirmary and eased him onto the bed closest to the fireplace. Aramis pulled his trousers off, biting back pained grunts as fabric rubbed against the wound. Then he lay down on his stomach on the bed. He'd left his braes on, and seeing as there was already a large rip in them that would have to be sewn, d'Artagnan merely tore them further to get adequate access to the gash on the back of his thigh.

D'Artagnan grimaced as he saw the large splinter in the wound tract. "Okay, here it goes…"

He gripped the broken frame with the tweezers and plucked it out. Aramis flinched, but then let out a breath.

"Is there more?"

D'Artagnan surveyed the jagged laceration. "I don't think so. We should probably flush it out though."

Aramis moaned into the pillow. "Yes. With spirits." He lifted his head suddenly and tried to look over his shoulder. "Does it need stitches? Because I would frankly prefer to wait for Lemay than have one of you use me as a practice cushion."

"How else am I supposed to practice?" d'Artagnan replied with a cheeky smile.

Aramis scowled and plopped his head back down.

D'Artagnan patted his calf. "We'll clean it and keep it bandaged until Lemay can give his professional opinion."

He got up to go look for some spirits when the infirmary door opened and Athos came in. "How's Savron?" he immediately asked.

"Jean believes he'll recover. The snow neutralized some of the compound and mitigated the damage, plus Aramis's treatment soon after he was exposed helped. He's resting in the company of his den mates." Athos's gaze narrowed on the occupied bed as Aramis propped himself up on his forearms to turn and look at him. "And you?" Athos inquired.

"I broke a window."

Athos did not appear amused.

"He's fine," d'Artagnan quickly assured. "Just tired. We're almost done fixing him up."

Aramis dropped his forehead to the pillow again, exhaustion clearly defined in the lines of his straining muscles.

Athos walked over to stand beside him. Aramis lifted his gaze and blinked blearily up at the stoic figure. Athos reached out and squeezed his shoulder, and Aramis's expression softened with understanding. Neither of them said anything, and d'Artagnan quickly went about finishing up with the gash in his leg. Afterward, Porthos spread several blankets over Aramis to keep him warm as he finally settled in to rest.

Athos's attention shifted to Ayelet, who was sitting on the other side of the fireplace.

"I know, she shouldn't be in here," d'Artagnan said. "We're going to have a talk about that." Among other things.

Athos was silent for a moment. "She was very brave today," he finally commented, surprising d'Artagnan. "And quick thinking. She'll make a fine addition to the Musketeers."

D'Artagnan was taken aback by the statement, but it made him beam with pride at his dragon. Yeah, she would.

.o.0.o.

The next morning, the Musketeer garrison gathered for a funeral. They stood in solemn silence as the coffin was lowered into the ground and Treville spoke words over the grave in honor and remembrance of Joubert. Aramis bowed his head and sent up a mental prayer of his own.

Afterward, as the men began to disperse, d'Artagnan lingered at the grave site. Athos stayed behind to wait for him as Porthos went with Aramis to answer a summons by the Queen. Aramis wasn't sure what she wanted to see him for.

"The way I look at it," Porthos remarked, "you saved her life, so she's probably grateful."

"But I did more or less push her out a window dangling from a dragon, so…she might want to see me whipped."

Porthos furrowed his brow. "I hadn't thought of that. Oh, you've upset me now."

Aramis was about to tell him he was only joking when another set of doors to the room opened and the Queen walked in.

"Monsieur Aramis!" she greeted with a bright smile. "Bravest of all the King's Musketeers."

"Only amongst the bravest, Your Majesty," he replied, bowing slightly.

She glanced at Porthos. "Perhaps your friend would grant us a moment's privacy?"

Porthos flicked an uncertain look at Aramis before bowing and crossing to the other side of the room. The Queen glanced over her shoulder at her attendants before turning back to Aramis. Her expression pinched and she reached out to trace one of the cuts on his face.

"Does it hurt?"

"Oh, not at all," he replied quickly, instinctively capturing her hand before she could touch them. "Well, perhaps it is a little sore," he amended, unable to help the quirk of his lips at her open concern.

"Poor, gallant Aramis," she responded. She then lifted a gold crucifix from around her neck. "Accept this gift, as a token of your Queen's gratitude."

He faltered slightly but obediently lowered his head so she could slip the chain over it.

"May it keep you safe…always."

Aramis kept his head inclined in humble gratitude, gaze fixed on hers.

"I should like to thank your dragon," she added. "Though, I do not know what gift one would bestow on one."

"Food is usually the way to win them over," Aramis replied. "Though Rhaego is a little harder to get to know than most."

"A jeweled saddle, perhaps?" Anne said with a twinkling smile.

"Ah, I'm afraid he wouldn't fully appreciate it. He'd be more likely to roll it around in the first mud puddle he could find."

She giggled. "Then I suppose this will have to suffice."

She fell quiet, the two of them lingering like that until Anne seemed to remember her ladies-in-waiting and looked over her shoulder again. She gave Aramis a parting smile and turned to leave.

He watched her go, transfixed. He reached a hand up to finger the gold cross against his chest.

"You know you were giving her the stare?" Porthos said, coming back over.

Aramis quirked a brow at him. "What stare?"

Porthos just shot him a pointed glare.

"She's a very attractive woman," he said in explanation.

"She's not a woman," Porthos rejoined. "She's the Queen."

Right.

.o.0.o.

Richelieu stood in the King's bedchambers where Louis sat in his bed, curled up in his night robes like a child.

"Why do my people hate me?" he lamented.

"Not all the people, Your Majesty," Richelieu responded. "As for these traitors, they must be severely punished."

"One might say they've suffered severely already," the Queen replied. Unlike the King, she was fully dressed and composed in a manner befitting royalty.

Richelieu stared at her in dismay. "They committed treason against the King! Murdered almost a dozen people. Attempted to murder France's Queen and First Minister!"

"That was Marmion and a few of his men," Anne said calmly. She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed next to Louis. "I've spoken with a handful of those villagers. Most of them followed Marmion because they had nowhere else to go. Marmion had taken care of them after their village was devastated and they felt obligated to go along with him. They do not bear you any hate, sire."

"An example must be made," Richelieu pressed. "Public execution."

"For those who participated in the murders," Anne contradicted. "But for the rest, I believe mercy is the right course." She placed a hand over Louis's. "Show the people that despite the hard decisions a king has to make at times, you always make the best ones you can and it's not out of cold indifference. Show them you are a king worthy of their respect and love."

Richelieu scoffed.

Louis, however, seemed to be listening. "What did you have in mind?"

"Let the other villagers return to Gerberoy to start over. And in acknowledgment of the lives lost there, erect a memorial."

"Your Majesty, you cannot laud a group of murderers!" Richelieu protested. "It will only send the message that the King is weak to the whims of madmen and traitors! A firm hand is what is required here."

"It will send the message that the King is not blind to the suffering of his people," Anne countered. "And that he is just by punishing only those who are guilty."

Richelieu shook his head in disbelief. The Queen was too soft for matters like these.

"Very well," Louis spoke up softly. "Those who are guilty must be punished. But…the others can be set free."

Richelieu spluttered. "Your Majesty, I truly think—"

"That is my decision, Cardinal," Louis said, drawing himself up a little more.

"After what they did," Richelieu seethed. "They tormented you, tormented the Queen."

Louis blanched at the reminder and started to look shaken again.

Anne took her husband's hands in hers. "And those who dared to do so are either dead or will be soon. Our loyal musketeers saved us, as they have before. Marmion was wrong about you; let us show the people that."

Louis let out a shuddering breath but seemed to compose himself once more. He gave the Queen an approving nod. "Yes, you're right."

Richelieu could only watch in mounting vexation as his counsel was blatantly ignored. This wasn't the first time, either. He was losing his influence over Louis.

Clenching his jaw, Richelieu turned and swept from the room. This would not do.

This would not do at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT TIME
> 
> When sickness strikes down the King's dragons, a dragon trader arrives with a special cure. But then he starts to gradually worm his way into replacing the current royal dragon keeper: Constance's father.


End file.
